


A Softness and a Harmony

by lucybun



Series: Ode Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucybun/pseuds/lucybun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock adores John's stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Softness and a Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> This is another body worship story written for livia-carica and her love of John's poochy tummy. This one is a little sweeter than the previous two. These body worship fics only relate to each other in terms of theme. They aren't meant to be sequels to one another, and they each belong in their own separate universe. Not betad or britpicked, so give a yell when you spot any mistakes.

He lay with his head resting on John's stomach, the taste of his semen still bursting across his tongue. John was boneless, flat against the mattress, breath slowing to a calmer pace. Sherlock's head was moving up and down with each inhale and exhale, it felt almost like being rocked by the sea. He loved nothing better than to press the side of his face into John's soft belly and have the doctor place a hand over his other ear so that his head was surrounded by nothing but John. As the doctor came back to earth, he obliged Sherlock in this and placed his warm, wide palm over the shell of his lover's ear. Like that, Sherlock was cocooned in John, the only noise he could hear was his breathing and heart beat, the only taste in his mouth was the tang of his seed, the only sight was his skin, the only scent the sweat of arousal and the musk of sex, the only feel was his heat and the softness of the flesh he rested upon. He was steeped in John Watson, and it was glorious.

They lay like that for an interminable time until Sherlock turned his head and began kissing and licking and sucking on the soft flesh of John's stomach. He felt more than heard the huffs of laughter as he found sensitive spots on the doctor's skin. John petted his hair and rubbed gently at the back of his neck as he buried his face in the doctor's perfectly cushioned tummy. He came up for air to find John staring down at him with amusement and affection gleaming in his eyes.

"Come here," John whispered.

"No," Sherlock answered. When John gave him puzzled look, he added, "I don't want to fuck you tonight." It came out sounding harsher than he'd meant, and he immediately dreaded the look of hurt that was sure to flash across John's face.

It never came. Instead John just gazed back steadily and softly replied, "All right. Come up here and I'll suck you."

"No, no. I don't want to be inside you at all, I want to be on top of you. Here," he said as he pushed his hand into the flesh of John's abdomen.

"Sherlock," he smiled, finally understanding to what the man was alluding, "I know you love my pooch, but you can't actually fuck it. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

Sherlock seemed to ignore him as he continued petting the smooth skin and running his fingers up and down the trail of light hair that ran from John's navel to his groin. Eventually he looked up and met John's eyes as he answered, "You may be a doctor, John, but I'm a genius." With that declaration he rose up on his knees and moved to straddle John so that his heavy erection fell across the man's stomach. He leaned over and grabbed the bottle of lubricant he'd retrieved from the nightstand and poured a generous amount over the doctor's flushed skin. He watched the muscles contract with the shock of the cold fluid and heard the smaller man let out a little hiss.

"Sherlock?"

"Shh. Just watch. You're about to learn a thing or two, my dear Doctor Watson."

Sherlock poured more lubricant into his hand and placed his palm over his own cock, sandwiching his length between the flat of his hand and the oddly resilient softness of John's flesh. As the doctor watched, he began to move his hips in a slow sinuous motion, sliding and pushing against John's stomach. He felt the pressure against his abdominal muscles and the slick caress of hot skin against his own and arousal began blossoming again in a spot somewhere just below where Sherlock's cock was moving.

He looked down and watched as the purplish head peeked into view and then disappeared beneath Sherlock's palm with each measured thrust. His mouth watered at the sight, eager for the taste and feel of that flared head against the back of his throat. But that was for another time. For now, he would content himself with lying back to watch as his lover lost himself in his own act of adulation. John would never understand the man's fascination, his adoration, for this part of his anatomy. Perhaps it was because it was so different from Sherlock's own abdomen. The younger man's stomach was starkly pale, scattered with a smattering of dark hair, and, especially if he were the one flat on his back, slightly concave in shape – the exact opposite of John's. Sherlock often liked to lie in bed and line their bodies up so that John's slightly convex abdomen was cupped in the indentation of his own stomach. John had laughingly called it "tummy spoons," expecting Sherlock to snarl at the sweetness of the appellation. He hadn't, though. He'd just smiled back at John with his eyes and pulled him in tighter against his torso. Apparently Sherlock's figurative "soft spot" was John's literal soft spot.

It was another one of the infinite ways that the two of them slotted together so well; ways that were often wonderful, but sometimes frightening as all hell. John was loathe to think of them in terms so treacly and trite as "completing one another" or "two halves of a whole," but when their bodies and their desire locked together in an embrace that had little to do with sex, it was more difficult to reject such romantic notions. And at night, when nightmares of semtex and smoke churned in his brain, it was devastating to even contemplate the loss of this man. It would mean losing an essential part of himself, some part necessary and fundamental to his being. It might sound ridiculous in the cold light of day, but in the darkness broken only by the soft glowing light from their window, John knew it was true. He would no more survive the loss of Sherlock Holmes than any other person would survive being rent asunder. He'd never tried to express this to his partner, but there was no need. He'd seen the stark terror when Sherlock thought him hurt, seen the way that the man could only completely relax when John was near. He was as needful of John as John was of him. Why speak of it when they could fit the jigsaw pieces of their bodies into place and simply feel the wholeness of the moment?

But the sexual, the carnal, was also an indispensable part of their relationship. For two men who often had trouble communicating their care with words, it was a vital expression of their emotions. For two men who often skipped along a high wire of danger that left their blood rushing and their adrenalin spiking, it was an act that was often the private denouement of their adventures together. It was a never ending source of amazement to John that he could have all of this, that he'd just stumbled across this...this everything without thought or plan. He'd honestly thought he'd used up the last bit of his luck when he'd managed to leave the blood soaked desert with his heart still beating and the air still moving in his lungs, but he'd been wrong. The fortune that had allowed his existence after a bullet ripped through his body was nothing compared to the the fortune that had allowed him to start truly living once he met Sherlock Holmes.

As his eyes drifted up the long, flushed torso, he watched as Sherlock bent his neck back and made a desperate moan. He was amazed but not surprised that Sherlock had worked out a way to do this, to combine the affection he felt for the differences between their bodies with the abject lust he felt for that same flesh. The whole of their relationship was just that, a near constant process of mingling and merging the once divergent lines of their individual lives. What Sherlock wanted, John needed to give. Right this moment, the giving was a simple thing, a pleasurable thing, and he reveled in his ability to do this, to be this, for Sherlock. Sherlock who was quickly losing control from the sensation of the glide of his cock against the expanse of John's soft belly.

Soon it was no longer enough to just slither against John, so he began pushing into his flesh with more force, less finesse. He was thrusting with the push of his legs, with the whole of his body, rather than the just the swaying motion of his hips. John watched as his breathing became more ragged and his eyes screwed shut. His front teeth bit down on his swollen bottom lip, and John listened as the man moaned and gasped against that effort to stay quiet. He was close, so close, and John felt his body tighten in sympathy with the tension spiraling through Sherlock. Finally, he brought his hand up and placed it over the one pressing into his stomach and pushed both hands and Sherlock's prick a little harder against his body. Sherlock's eyes flew open and a hoarse shout was ripped from his lungs as a few moments later he climaxed, hot, wet stripes painting John's torso and their joined hands. He eased the pressure from Sherlock's hand and let the man slowly ride out his orgasm against the gentle swell of his stomach.

When he was at last empty and exhausted, Sherlock slumped forward and draped himself across John's smaller form. The doctor kissed his cheeks, his lips, his temple; soft, chaste kisses of affection as he pushed black, sweat-damp hair back from Sherlock's forehead and gently caressed his arms and back. He whispered nonsense words against his skin, settling and gentling the euphoric man back into a normal, if a bit more relaxed, state.

"All right?"

"Yes. Better than all right," he answered, gifting John with one of his satisfied smiles.

"From the sex or from proving me wrong?" John asked, a grin of his own stretching across his face.

Sherlock lay there a few moments, still smiling and adjusting his body so it would fall into place just so against John. When he finally settled, he kissed the doctor on the side of his head and answered, "Both."

"Good, a two for one deal then."

"Yes. You're very good at that you know?"

"What? Sex? I know. I can lie back and think of the Queen like a true soldier."

Sherlock's laughter rocked against his body as he answered, "No, idiot. At two for ones. At being two things at once."

And there it was again, that almost eerie affinity that bound them together. Because wasn't that really just another way of saying exactly what John had been thinking? That they were somehow some new creature molded out of their separate selves? That he was not only Doctor Watson anymore, that he was more than that now, that he was half of the symbiosis that was Sherlock and John? He breathed through the jolt in his chest this revelation caused and nodded against Sherlock's neck.

"Yeah. I am good at that. _We're good at that, Sherlock._ "

Sherlock nodded in agreement, placed another kiss on on the curve of the doctor's ear, and fell asleep to the swaying cadence of the press and release of John's breathing body against his own.


End file.
